A Trifling Problem
by Nyltiak
Summary: A sequel to Heroes and Villains.
1. Saucers of Milk

**PLEASE REVIEW. Reader feedback will decide whether or not I continue this fic. **

Chapter One- Saucers of Milk

_"Boggarts are ugly-that's why he's always calling me that. They're small, and they've got warts and bumbles and all, and they like to live in cupboards and under the floor, but they're not always mean—you can make friends with a boggart if you're really nice to him. You leave milk out for them, and things. I just thought it would be funny if we had one."_ Tamsin by Peter S. Beagle

My roommate was a partier, and that was a problem.

It was one thing to live with a workaholic. Workaholics are predictable—they stay out more than they stay in and return at odd hours (ranging anywhere from very late to obscenely early) but you always know ahead of time when they will be back because they run on some sort of spastic clockwork. Partiers, on the other hand, are different. They are capable of stumbling in at any time between midnight and the following noon. You never know when they could be slumped out in front of the door, too wasted to attempt to find their key, knock, or yell, listening to _every _word you say while they wallow in their own vomit.

Like inept, but annoyingly lucky detectives, partiers have a way of finding out things you _really_ didn't want them to know. This is all well and good if your deepest, darkest secrets involve something like a bad taste in music or a secret love shrine to the campus janitor, but is all together nasty when it involves late-night visits from a wanted sociopath.

I needed a way to communicate with him. He needed to know when it was safe to come in, and which nights were best to take a pass. On the nights that I thought were safer than others, I put a saucer of milk on the windowsill. Toad didn't like being treated like a transient cat very much, but there wasn't anything I could do about it except hope my roommate's flagging grades and ridiculous behavior (i.e. running naked through the quad in mid-January) would get her removed from campus, or better yet, the country—perhaps to one of those places that have a malaria problem.

Not to say she wasn't capable of being a perfectly decent human being when she was sober, but around the fifth week I found my laundry covered in vomit I decided that I would never actually _see _her sober and this whole partying thing wasn't just a temporary celebration of freedom from controlling parents.

The only thing keeping me sane at the moment was the fact that Mort hated her almost as much as I did (even though he doesn't like much of anybody), and that was about to change.


	2. A New Foe

Chapter Two—A New Foe

"Hatred is a very underestimated emotion." Jim Morrison

It was around mid-September when the worst of the headlines started showing up. Apparently the Brotherhood had hit on something really big. Big wigs from every sector were dying off: big business, the media, and the government suffered heavy casualties. Toad had taken to signing his name in blood on the wall above his kill. He thought it was hilarious. He tried to keep his more grisly work out of our day-to-day discussions (he knew it made me uncomfortable) but I always saw him on the news, and boy, did he love the coverag. It seemed like a day didn't go by without him being spotted by an eagle eyed yokel with a camera phone. Blurry pictures and amateurly shot movies were plastered over screens across America; he jumped around on buildings, covered with blood—and it was never his own—he had always been a bit of a show-off. He told me one night that some news channel was doing a special on him. He wanted to watch it together, and I figured it would be worth a few laughs.

On a night I'd pegged as being safe, a jingling came from the other side of the door, the telltale sound of my drunken roommate trying to get her key into the lock. I cursed, turning back around, but Toad was already gone. I couldn't tell if he'd gone out the open window, or if he'd hidden in one of our closets, but it didn't really matter, as long as he wasn't seen.

After several unsuccessful attempts, my roommate got the door open, and weaved in, smelling of cheap booze and cigarette smoke. I really hate her, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea about her. She's gorgeous--leggy with full curves, big eyes, and blonde hair. She's the sort of person who wouldn't wait for Halloween to dress up like a schoolgirl or a sexy nurse, and she could always pull it off with confidence and ease. She was the stereotypical party girl, and I didn't think she had two brain cells to rub together. She giggled as she came into the room, breaking in to a big grin when she saw me awake.

"Wow, you're up _la-aaate, _what're you up to? " she sat down on her bed heavily, reaching under it, trying to get at the mini fridge she kept down there. Her fingers fumbled and slipped on the handle, which always stuck. She cursed under her breath for a solid minute. I entertained the thought of helping her, but before I could open my mouth, there was a bright light and a pop like a firecracker from under the bed. My eyes widened.

"Are you insane?!"

"Shh…" she said, covering her mouth with her index finger. She was giggling. "It's a secret, shhh, nobody's supposed to know. You won't tell, right?"

For a wild moment, I'd thought she'd brought explosives into the dorm, but I quickly dismissed it. There wasn't any smoke, or even the faintest tell-tale scent of burning. There was a rustle behind me as Toad slipped out the window, unseen, nothing to mark his passage except the stirring of the curtains. A cold, buzzing feeling started in the pit of my stomach, and slowly spread upwards.

She was a mutant.

She was something that I had wished to be for almost half of my life. She would automatically win a regard that I could never hope to achieve with him, with the rest of them, just because she was able to pull off a party trick.

It wouldn't matter that she was obnoxious, that she was a drunk and and worse, it wouldn't matter that she had no respect for other peoples' privacy, and it probably wouldn't even matter that she was beautiful—at least, not for long.

There was a term for people like her—people who could pass. Toad calls them 'pretties'. He told me once that he really only considers them a step above humans, but it was a large step. One that I knew I could never, ever breach. I would always be a rung below her in his regard, and barely a step up from the rest of the human populace—the ones that threw stones. It was like being back on the playground again, faced with chants of 'NO GIRLS ALLOWED'.

It was infuriating. I had saved his life, but I would forever be cast in this bitch's shadow.


	3. Green Eyed Monster

Green-Eyed Monster

"_Beware, my lord, of jealousy!"_ ~ Shakespeare

The air was still, thick, and hot. Not a single leaf stirred, and anyone with half a mind had found somewhere cool to settle in. I was sticky, sweaty, tired, and fully aware that I was being watched. I didn't want him to see me like this. My hair was limp and dirty looking, and I was still in my pajamas—sprawled in an ungainly position on top of my bed.

"Since when do you wait for an invitation?" I asked, propping myself up with my elbows. I noticed at once that he didn't seem to mind the heat. He was still dressed in layers, from head to foot, and didn't display any outward signs of discomfort. There wasn't even a sheen of sweat on his skin. He scanned the room for a moment before drawing the curtains and flicking his hood down.

"You didn't tell me your roommate was a mutant." He accused, as if I'd done this to make him look stupid. After all this time, he still didn't trust me. I could just scream.

"I didn't know any more than you did." I muttered, flopping back down on to my bed, feeling sorry for myself.

"You stink." Toad informed me with an amused smirk, approaching my bed.

"Did you just come here to insult me?" I demanded, sitting up again. "Because I have more important things to do than to—"

I'll never understand how he moves so quickly. He closed the distance between us, his hand around my throat before I could let out a frightened squeak. His grip was loose, not a threat---a reminder. _Remember who you're dealing with. Show respect_. When he felt as if his point had been made, he let go, and sat down beside me.

"I want you to talk to that girl for me." He said.

"…Toad…" I protested. "I can't get involved, and you're not going to bully me in to it, either."

He smiled the smile of a man who knew when to call a bluff. He wouldn't threaten me into doing his bidding—there was a boundary that he wouldn't cross when it came to that. He knew full well that he owed me, and even his somewhat skewed sense of honor made note of that. No—he wouldn't threaten me, he didn't need to. He knew better than most that hero worship was a habit that was hard to kick.

"Can I at least know her name?" he asked, playing along for now. He could be a devious little bastard.

"Tabitha. Tabitha Smith." I offered after a long pause, hating myself for proving him right. What was helping him going to prove anyway? I'd just be forgotten as soon as he cornered his new pretty recruit. Novelties like me were quickly forgotten when there was real work to be done.

Toad ruffled my hair. "I'll call you." He was gone again with a rustling of the curtains. I got up slowly, grabbing my flip flops and towel. He was right…I needed a shower.

**Elsewhere**

"_The NYPD wasn't able to comment on the latest brash of killings, thought to be linked with the mutant vigilante Mortimer Toynbee, alias 'Toad'. Government officials are on high alert, many going into hiding following the flurry of Brotherhood activity. There's plenty of speculation about what the killings are linked with, as the victims have little or no connection with each other. Stay with channel 14 News for this story as it develops…." _He moved his hand sharply, and one of his men shut the television off.

"There's no reason to worry. The situation is under control."


	4. Dissonance

Dissonance

_Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there._ Eric Hoffer

I've said it before and I'll say it again, Toad isn't a modest man. Maybe it's something about his appearance that has led him to be vain in an altogether different way—but the only thing he loves more than showing off his (considerable) prowess is seeing himself featured in the media. Coming in at a close third is recognition of who he is, and what he does by the people he meets. He does dramatic entrances. Not Magneto dramatic, of course. He doesn't quite do the whole awe-inspiring-cower-before-me bit. No, he strikes fast and hard, and then he sits back, and laughs about it, looking at you like a mean kid would a turtle on its back. He gleans amusement from the incompetence of others, and does it all with an effortless grin.

…but he couldn't do that very well if the person he was trying to impress was so drunk they couldn't see straight. That's where I came in.

"Hey, Tabby?" I asked. It was probably the first time I'd started a conversation since orientation. Most of the time I just wished that she would leave me alone.

"Yeah, what's up, babe?" she asked, flashing me a perfect smile. She hadn't started to hit the juice really hard yet.

"I know someone who wants to meet you. I thought maybe you'd want to stay in tonight." She was in the process of reaching for her purse, and she paused.

"Are you trying to set me up?" she asked with a grin. "I don't need help on that front, honey." She wasn't kidding, either. Men lined up around the block to get a date with her.

"No. This person just wants to talk to you. About your uhh…talents?" I hope she got the hint. Her face suddenly got red.

"Listen, I don't know what you've been hearing around campus but—" I interrupted her.

"Tabby, I saw you blast open the fridge door last Tuesday, okay?" I put one hand on my hip, refusing to be rebuffed. She started laughing.

"Oh, that? Who cares about that?" I rubbed my temples.

"It doesn't matter, okay? It's just he'd prefer if you weren't drunk off your ass when he comes to see you." I was tired of taking the subtle route. She was getting on my nerves. Her lips just quirked into a pretty, perfect smile.

"Whatever you say. I gotta say, I didn't expect this sort of thing from you. You pretty much radiate boring." She laughed. I gave her a look that could sear souls. She didn't seem to notice.

I texted Toad to let him know that Tabby was—relatively sober, and he told me he'd be there within the hour. Fantastic.

**Elsewhere**

_Tonight at eleven, top psychologist Dr. Evan Morris takes us in to the minds of America's most wanted criminals-----are you tired of persistent belly fat?-------It really works! Satisfaction is our guarantee-----WELCOME TO SHARK WEEK---_

The television was turned off in an irritated and decisive manner. Things were getting worse, for everyone. Links were being exposed. Those goddamn muties were picking them off one by one, no security measure could stop them…and he had to stay calm. To panic now was to lose all of his supporters, and to lose the faith of his men. No, he had to remain composed, despite the fact that his compatriots were dropping like flies. He couldn't afford to lose the support of his hired muscle who had—so far—kept him safe.


	5. A Most Auspicious Meeting

A Most Auspicious Meeting

"_I don't like that man. I must get to know him better." ~_Abraham Lincoln

There are several things you don't do around Toad; you don't stare, you don't make any sudden movements, and most importantly, you never, _ever_ flirt. Flirting with Toad is like...it's like paying squash with nitroglycerin. He takes it the wrong way, like anybody who would flirt with him is secretly making fun of him. I found this out through months of dealing with his explosive temper.

I've learned that this rule doesn't apply to Tabitha Smith.

Somehow I thought that someone as cunning and paranoid as Toad would be able to see past the double Ds and cloud of pheromones the girl seems to carry around like a pod of party balloons, but no. Not only did Tabby shamelessly flirt with Toad when she arrived, she sat in his lap_. And she still has all of her fingers. _

I read somewhere that if an angry animal is charging you, the best thing to do is to stay put and glare at it. Usually out of confusion the creature will stop and turn tail, assuming that you know something that it doesn't. Maybe it was something like that. I guess Toad doesn't really ever have women like that flirt with him---well, he does, I've heard him talk about a few of his 'friends' he visits on a regular basis, but those are the kind of women you have to pay---and he got thrown by it.

So there she is, sitting in his lap, playing with his hair like he's any frat boy on campus. "So," she says. "I've heard a lot about you, Greenie. You've got quite the rep."

I winced as the silence stretched on. _Nice knowing you, Tabby_, I thought. _It's about five seconds until you're a smear against the wall._ But then the weirdest thing happened.

He laughed.


	6. Scorn

Scorn

"_Beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long coming, it is the stronger when it comes, and the longer kept."_ ~ Francis Quarles

I was sitting in a coffee shop, wondering how I had gotten there. Somehow, Tabby and Toad had gotten me to leave. It was at times like these that I wished I'd taken Toad up on those self-defense lessons, just so I could get in to a fight or win. It was at times like these that I wished I was a mutant. I wanted to level a city. I wanted to light her stupid blond head on fire. I wanted...

A sick feeling started to swim in my stomach, a little voice nagging at the back of my mind. When I get angry, my thoughts start to fire off without rhyme or reason. The usual filter present to keep me from thinking uncomfortable things is blasted to smithereens. _Do you love him?_

No! No, no, of course not. He was difficult, he was inconsiderate, he was a complete fucking psychopath! _Then why are you so angry?_

Because he was my friend, goddammit! It took me nearly two years to get to where we were, and this stupid slutty blond comes in, talks to him for five minutes and calls him 'Greenie', and _walks away from it_! After all this time, after I saved his life, he still thinks of me as just a 'decent flatscan'.

It wasn't fair.

Since the kidnapping, I hadn't made any new friends. After being that close to death, I really didn't think that talking about the latest episode of America's Next Top Model would cut it anymore. Gossip was dull and uninteresting. Meaningful conversations always get around to politics, and inevitably (for me), mutant rights. It's a spiky subject, especially since the mention of mutant rights goes hand in hand with the dangerous Brotherhood assassins, a main arguing point for the mutant registration act. A human girl arguing nail and tooth over the subject tends to put most casual acquaintances off rather quickly. Toad was my only friend. It didn't help my ego much that I was probably his only friend, too. It just made things a little bit more sad.

I felt a little cooled down by the end of my long think, and realized that the barista was staring at me from the front counter. I had probably stormed in and slammed my chair around a bit. I flushed, bought a coffee in embarrassment, and started the walk back to my dorm. I opened the door without knocking...not thinking that I would be interrupting anything. I was wrong.


	7. Interrupted

"_Betrayal is the only truth that sticks." _Arthur Miller

_They're on my bed. _

That was the only thing I could think for the first few seconds. It wasn't as if they even realized I was there. I was a ghost. _They're _on_ my bed. They're on _my_ bed. They're on my _bed_. _It was a frantic mantra of a frazzled mind. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Not to say the betrayal wouldn't have been any less real if it had taken place on Tabby's sheets instead of my own----but the utter thoughtlessness of it all---it wasn't as if there wasn't anything wrong with Tabby's bed. Mine had just been closer, more convenient. And who cared if the flatscan had to do an extra load of laundry, right?

I grabbed my backpack and shoved my wallet and a few other essentials inside. I had to get out of there. As I was reaching in to my drawers, stumbling around in the dark room, Tabby let out a wanton moan, gripping the sheets---_my_ sheets. And that's what drove me over the edge. I picked up the nearest thing I could find, and chucked it as hard as I could in their direction. Then I ran. I didn't cry, I didn't scream, I just ran.

I'm not athletic. I'd never run more than a half a mile straight, but that night it felt like I could run across the whole state and not run out of steam. My legs pumped like mad, carrying me past worried looking students, to annoyed townies, to startled looking cows. Once I broke the city's limits—and don't be too impressed here, my college town really isn't that big—I slowed down to an angry walk, hand gripping one strap of my bag.

After awhile, my mind cooled just a bit, and I tried to remember what exactly I had thrown. My brain had been so filled with arching backs and other bedroom gymnastics a little detail like what I threw and how heavy it had been seemed to have slipped my mind.

Well, it was definitely heavier than a pencil, but not quite as heavy as my physics book. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that I had chucked Tabby's curling iron. Heavy. With a cord. That meant whiplash.

I threw a curling iron at Toad.

Holy _fuck_.

I started to run again, but it wasn't as easy this time. My legs were sore, and I was out of shape. Although the evening was cool, I was hot and starting to sweat. I still kept running. I didn't think that he'd take too kindly with coitus interruptus—especially not from me. Or rather, from a hurled curling iron, thrown by me. The barely tolerated normal.

And he wouldn't get why I threw it either. No, his mind didn't work like normal people's did. He wouldn't figure that I was jealous, or even upset that he was porking my roommate on _my_ bed. No, he'd think something crazy, like I'd done it to protect Tabby from him, or that I was disgusted by the very sight of them together (and I was, but not for the reasons he'd be likely to think of). I could only hope that Tabby would try to keep him there, and not go looking for me.

I had to get off the road. I was walking alongside a cornfield. I knew going in there would provide cover for me, and for whoever might be coming after me, but for the moment, I was willing to take that chance. I jumped the fence, snagging my jeans on the barbed wire. I tried to enter the rows of corn without disturbing them too much, holding my bag to my chest. Once I got deep enough, I decided, I'd just sit. There were borders of trees around these fields too, to reduce wind erosion during planting season and after harvest. There were streams and marshes. Maybe I could lose him.

I bet dozens of his victims have had the same thoughts.

I kept moving anyway, pushing past the ears of ripening corn, all my senses on high alert. I felt hunted, even though it was very possible he wouldn't have followed me out here. After all, how was he supposed to know where I'd go? It was a small town, but not that small. I could've gone to a coffee shop. Or a friend's dorm. I could've taken my car! I could've boarded a bus and gone anywhere, or the train. There was no reason for him to think that I would've run out into the country---other than the fact that he tracked scared and emotional people for a living.

I stumbled through the rows of corn for a good ten minutes before I heard the motorcycle. I'd know that motorcycle anywhere. You didn't hear that sort of soft purr around here. Nobody could afford that sort of hardware down here. I was nearly at the trees, impossible to see from the road, but I still flattened down to my stomach when I heard it. I was holding my breath, even though I was hundreds of yards away from the roadside. I lay, consumed with fear—that is, until I heard the second motorcycle. And the third. And the fourth, and fifth, and sixth. They all sounded a little different, but there was no mistaking the whoops and hollers coming from the road. A bike gang was passing through. That was all.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.


	8. Unnoticed

"_No one has ever told me grief was so much like fear." _C.S. Lewis

I don't know how I managed to fall asleep there, on the cold, wet ground, but when I opened my eyes next the sky was the greyish pink of very early morning. I got to my feet, cold, wet, and hurting. My clothes were covered with mud and soaked in dew—and people looked at me, some worried, some horrified, as I limped through town.

I had assumed that if Toad had meant to kill me he would have done so last night. He likes a game of cat and mouse better than anyone, but the whole point of that game is to let the prey know you're there. I hadn't been followed—or if I had, he had simply watched me and left. I unlocked the door to my dorm room with shaking hands, more out of exhaustion than fear. My mind was buzzing, and all the intense emotions I had felt the night before had been washed out now, like the sky. Tabby was lying on her bed, flipping through a beauty magazine, perfect bronzed legs crossed. She was wearing—I realized with a stab of anger---an overlarge black t-shirt. Toad's. She looked up at me and smiled a bright, if slightly sheepish, smile.

"Uh...hi." she tried, sitting up. "He's in the shower." she explained. Behind the cotton balls, my brain registered the sound of running water. I nodded. "I changed your bed." she offered, sounding meek—by her standards, of course.

"I threw a curling iron." my voice sounded foreign and flat, even to my ears.

"Oh...oh right! We heard a crash but uh..." she pointed. The small dent in the wall was five feet above where they would have been. I expected a new wave of broiling anger to rush over me, but all I managed to find was sort of a weak despair, rolling over on its back in a humiliating and final show of defeat. That was it then, I thought, he hadn't even noticed—but my adventure into self pity was interrupted by the bathroom door opening.

There he was, standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. I couldn't help but stare. I knew he was in good shape, of course, but I hadn't even begun to imagine how good he---well, the man took care of himself, let's just put it that way. His muscles weren't the only thing to attract the eye—there were scars, some thin, others thicker, some battle scars, bullet wounds and the like, but others faded and old. And tattoos—there was a red T on one shoulder, a jagged stylized DNA strand wrapping around the other, as well as several cruder inks probably done at home, or in prison.

But that wasn't what caught my full attention. No. The most shocking detail of all: he was _smiling_. Not a smirk or a sneer, nothing sardonic or hateful about it, just a genuinely happy expression that reminded me he really wasn't that much older than I was.

"Didn't your mummy ever tell you it isn't polite to stare?"


	9. Babysitting

"_Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love._" George Eliot

Tabby had class that morning. I couldn't remember the last time that girl had actually gone to class. When I thought about it later, I decided that she probably left under Toad's influence.

"Don't tell me you're a prude, precious." He noted my cold silence, chuckling. I crossed my arms over my chest, that anger boiling up in my chest again. How dare he?

"You should get laid more often, Mortimer. You're almost tolerable like this." I said coldly. I'd never dared to use his name before. I didn't know how he'd react. I'd heard Mystique use it a couple of times, but Mystique and I were as different in his mind as anything. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them, but not as fully as you might expect. I regretted that he was probably going to fly off the handle now, but I wasn't sorry that I had said something. I wanted to hurt him, like he hurt me. But he just chuckled again. Bastard.

"She'd be a valuable member of the team…" He commented as he dressed, "…if it weren't for that little drinking problem of hers. It's a right shame."

"Yeah." I said, "Real shame." I cleaned my nails casually, showing disinterest. If he was trying to ask for my advice on how to get Tabby to run the straight and narrow, he could go right to hell. Fuck him, fuck her, fuck everyone.

"If there was only someone to keep her in line…y'know I'd do the job m'self, precious, but you know I'm a busy man." He said, smiling, obviously trying to charm me. I just snorted.

"I'm tired of doing your dirty work, Toad. I have nothing more to say to you, okay? Forget about me. Forget about how I saved your life. Forget about how I've tolerated your shit for as long as I've known you, and certainly forget about being friends." I snapped. Surprise registered on Toad's face first, but that was swiftly followed by fury.

"Remember who you're talkin' to." He said, starting to advance, but the terror had almost gone out of this old routine. I was sick of him and his games. I was sure that he wouldn't lay a finger on me. He owed me, after all.

"I'm sick of your attitude. I'm sick of your temper. And I'm sick of all of your goddamn baggage! I'm not going to sit around and be your little human punching bag anymore, Toad!" I hissed. I had surprise on my side now. He had never expected his little flatscan to grow a spine. He just blinked at me. And suddenly, the wheels started turning.

Toad had been programmed from an early age to believe that normal looking people found him hideous—that he was repulsive to look at and touch, and that anybody who said otherwise was either pitying or fucking with him. He hated both. Fucking with Toad was actually marginally _less_ dangerous than pitying him, if you can believe it. He was a proud man. So it was understandable that he was a bit slow coming to a conclusion that most people would have reached fairly quickly. A slow grin spread over his face, displaying ugly, stubby teeth.

"You're jealous." He said, as the realization dawned. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes, one that I didn't like. He didn't find my jealousy intriguing or enticing. He found it amusing. Because of what I was. His tamed little human.

"Fuck you, Toad. Had it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm just sick and tired of all the bullshit you pile on me whenever you drop by? One wrong word and you go from being a friend to a prick with self esteem problems and a proficiency with pointy objects." I sneered. Uncertainty flashed over his features for only an instant. He thought awhile before speaking again.

"Eve, darlin'. I want you to come back to the Island again. I really think you could help us. The Cause. By keepin' an eye on Tabby." The look in his eye said he knew that I wouldn't be able to refuse such an opportunity. I cursed him, all the while knowing that he was right.


	10. Pajamas

"_Do we not all spend the greater part of our lives under the shadow of an event that has not yet come to pass?__" _Maurice Maeterlinck

Tabby's stuff had been sitting in a tower of boxes and suitcases for two weeks. She'd been living out of them, not caring as they fell over. We share a room, just like we did at school, and she rarely occupies it, just like at school. She's too busy with Mort.

I stared at the teetering piles of boxes for the better part of two weeks, contemplating how I might happen to find my death under a box of designer shoes that she'd worn once and then discarded. Because that's how I felt. I know I was being dramatic. The shoe metaphor was rather heavy-handed at best, and I don't think that I was really Gucci or Prada level in the first place, but I had to be a pretty convincing knockoff. I mean, I'm not shabby. Not a slouch, I mean. I clean up really well, but I don't hold a candle to Tabitha. I don't think I've ever seen anybody who could hold their own against Tabitha. She's one of those people who could grace the covers of those glossy magazines, the lucky few who wouldn't need the aid of hours of arrangement, careful lighting, make-up, and afterwards, Photoshop.

It took two weeks of feeling sorry for myself before I decided that I was going to make myself useful. Tabby was ecstatic to be here. She was being good, and laying off the drink, but I had a feeling it wouldn't last too long. Toad didn't have a word for me. He occasionally nodded as we passed each other in the labyrinthine halls of the island, but we didn't speak. I was just as alone and bored as I had been on my previous visit—but this time, I discovered, I had something to do. I started to unpack the boxes, carefully folding each article of clothing and putting it away. Everything was going fine, for awhile. I was able to keep myself busy, and feeling accomplished after a few weeks of doing jack shit was good. But then I got to the bottom of the first box, where she kept her pajamas. If you can call them that.

Back at school, she hadn't worn pjs. She'd either passed out on her bed fully clothed, or had gone to sleep in the nude. I was surprised she owned any nightwear at all. But she did. Lingerie filled up half the box, sexy bits of silk, leather and lace, some sweet and innocent, covered with light frills, others covered with straps.

I own two sets of real pajamas. Usually I sleep in over-large t-shirts and flannel pants, only taking out my real pjs when I'm sick or just need some warm and fuzzy. One pair is blue, and has little penguins on it. They are doing penguin things, like sliding down snowy hillsides, and fishing with little poles. Some of them are wearing hats. My second pair of pjs are green, and they have little cartoon sheep on them, with little numbers. Counting sheep, get it? I've always loved my pajamas. They make me feel cute and comfy. But for the first time, after staring at all those scraps of fabric in that box, I felt stupid and childish for having anything with cartoon animals on.

**Author's Note:** Happy Holidays to everybody! I'd like to state that Evelyn's two sets of pajamas, as described in this chapter, are indeed based on real pajamas, and I love them to death. I am, in fact, wearing the one with sheep on right now. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. It's a bit of a transition one. I like this story, but I still need to decide exactly where I'm taking all of these characters.


End file.
